


Mikkel’s Malmö Misadventures

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: LooNEY_DAC's SSSS AUs [10]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Gen, No Rash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:30:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8665957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC
Summary: Secret Agent Mikkel in modern-day Malmö.





	1. An Alternate Beginning

_My name is Mikkel Madsen. I used to be a spy, until I decided to resign..._

The first thing Mikkel Madsen noticed when he woke was a bad taste in his mouth. Someone had stun-gunned him.

The next thing he noticed was how very _Icelandic_ his surroundings were. Not only was all the signage in Icelandic, but the architecture, road style, and a dozen other big things and small screamed _Iceland_ at Mikkel. Naturally, he therefore presumed he was somewhere in Finland.

*

Mikkel looked on askance as the red-haired Norwegian fury took out another contingent of guards. Whoever was paying Sigrun to break him out of this “upscale gated community” was getting their money’s worth. Of course, that was why Sigrun was the go-to girl when it came to ops like this.

Eventually, however, there was no one left for Sigrun to fight, so she could turn her full attention to Mikkel. He put up his hands in a placatory gesture, but Sigrun proved implacable as ever, ignoring his attempts to assure her that he would not be fool enough to resist in favor of stun-gunning him into oblivion.

*

For the second time in under a week, Mikkel came to with a bad taste in his mouth. This time, however, his hands and feet were bound, his eyes covered and his mouth gagged. “Sorry, big fellow,” Sigrun’s cheerful voice told him from somewhere to his left, “but I couldn’t chance you changing your mind about coming along peacefully at the last minute. I’ll have you out of those soon enough.”

Before she could say any more, her phone rang. Mikkel snorted through his gag. Unless his ears deceived him, Sigrun was still using the old car phone she’d had when he first met her, all those years ago. Mikkel had thought the telecom companies didn’t service those type of phones anymore, but he was wrong.

“Wait, what?” Sigrun sputtered, breaking into Mikkel’s rather nostalgic reflections. “You’re _canceling_ the job? WHAT ABOUT MY FEE?”

Mikkel could hear the panic in the swift response even from where he sat. Evidently, her erstwhile former employers knew of Sigrun’s standard response to being denied her fees.

“Great,” Sigrun groaned. “What am I supposed to do with a hundred kilos & more of recalcitrant Dane? Hmmmmmm...” After a considerable bit of thought, Sigrun snapped her fingers. “OK, I’ve got it! I’ll just drop you off in Malmö so you can ‘await further developments’. I’ve got a buddy there doing a job who can put you up in a pinch.”

*

Sigrun’s “buddy” was a young, golden-haired pretty boy named Emil, which surprised Mikkel, until he snuck a look at Emil’s quite comprehensive explosives lab. Trust Sigrun to take to a budding firebug. Emil was obviously somewhat in awe of her, which was normal enough.

Before Sigrun could really get to wheedling Emil into doing her bidding, though, Emil’s cell rang. Emil listened to his caller for a few minutes, confusion deepening on his face, until he handed the phone to Mikkel.

The voice was unfiltered but unfamiliar. “Welcome to Malmö, Mister Madsen. I trust your journey wasn’t too unpleasant, but we both know Ms. Eide can get a bit enthusiastic about carrying out a contract.

“Now, to business. You claim you wish to retire, and you chafed at the notion of living in the little reserve in which you were placed. Very well; if you stay in Malmö and keep yourself out of trouble, you will be left alone. If not, there are certain people less principled than Ms. Eide. Consider this your only warning.”

The line went dead, and Mikkel handed the phone back to Emil, who, wide-eyed, asked Sigrun, “Who _is_ this guy?”

The confab was broken up by the far door opening and a cheery female voice calling out, “We’re back, Emil!” Seconds later, two ash-blonde Finns and a tall, gangly red-head with a truly remarkable braid walked in.

Emil made the introductions somewhat awkwardly. The two Finns were the semi-infamous Hotakainen cousins: Lalli, cat burglar and computer wizard, and Tuuri, grifter and mechanic extraordinaire. The redhead, who proved to be an Icelander, was their intern, Reynir, who was under the impression that they were a legitimate outfit doing security testing work, instead of a ring of thieves and swindlers. Reynir was so like a human puppy, though, that none of them wanted to disillusion him.

Fortunately, Sigrun was glib-tongued enough to claim to be a simple bounty hunter bringing Mikkel back to face justice in Malmö, so the ruddy naif’s illusions were kept intact for the present.

Mikkel had already decided to metaphorically sit back and, as Sigrun had mockingly said, await further developments, and this latest twist only reinforced that notion. Things looked to become quite interesting very shortly...


	2. The First Frist Job

_My name is Mikkel Madsen. I used to be a spy, until I decided to resign..._

Most people have expectations of how their life will go, hence the common interview question, “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

And then reality steps in. Never would Mikkel have expected to wind up stuck in Malmö with his favorite berserker, the inimitable Sigrun Eide, her pyromaniac protégée Emil Västerström, his grifter friend Tuuri Hotakainen, her hacker/cat-burglar cousin Lalli, and a clueless intern named Reynir. If Mikkel had, he would have made suitable arrangements and been far, far away.

Of course, Mikkel’s current dour view of his plight might be ever so slightly prejudiced by the fact that he was hanging upside down rather more than ten stories in the air and fighting for his life.

It had been rather disconcerting for Mikkel to discover how many of his friends and acquaintances _weren’t_ surprised at his predicament. However, their disinclination to help in all but the most minor ways possible was something Mikkel _had_ anticipated.

“So, Sigrun,” Mikkel began casually as she was cleaning an old but well-kept MP40, “I seem to recall you had an uncle of sorts--Trond, was it?”

Sigrun flashed him a grin and kept cleaning. “Yep. Great guy. Throws me a bone every now and again, and I try to do the same.”

“So you have a way to get in touch with him at need.”

“Speed-dial number seven on my car phone. I’ll put the 5 krona per minute on your tab.”

*

“Ah, Mister Madsen.” The voice was the same one that had warned Mikkel to stay in Malmö. “I have been expecting your call. I hope I wasn’t too abrupt in our little chat earlier?”

“Why have you done this?” Mikkel fired back.

“ _I_ have done nothing but act as an intermediary for certain, shall we say, _friends_ of yours in various positions in various nations--friends who believe locking you away was a mistake, and a wasteful mistake at that. Thanks to them, you have the run of Malmö--and, if you’re willing, I can arrange for you to meet with certain, ah, _needy folk_ of the type you enjoy assisting.”

Mikkel’s internal debate was rather brief. “I’m willing.” _And ready to suss out whatever your real game is_ , he silently added.

*

The thug grappling with Mikkel reached back and pulled a hidden knife free from its sheath, but Mikkel, while not quite as adept as Sigrun, was still more than able enough to disarm the thug as they struggled at the end of the tethers keeping them from rudely splattering all over the pavement far below.

To be fair, this wasn’t actually Trond’s fault per se, but Mikkel thought that mysterious figure would make a good enough scapegoat for now. Certainly Trond himself wouldn’t object, so long as Mikkel continued to dance to Trond’s tune.

The thug got another few hits in, and Mikkel lost his train of thought in favor of seeing stars.

“EIDE-HO!” And Sigrun knocked the thug cold with one punch.

Mikkel was still trying to shake off the thug’s last few hits when Sigrun, still hanging upside down beside him and the unconscious thug, said, “Y’know, this little escapade hasn’t increased my assessment of your battling skills.” At Mikkel’s non-committal grunt, she continued, “And this whole lone wolf thing is kinda unnecessary. I talked to the guys and they’re fine with pitching in every now and again.”

“I’m not sure I want to get involved with whatever they’re doing,” Mikkel replied. “And the Hotakainens aren’t known to be the kind of people who do things out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“So you prefer hanging like this to taking a chance on them?”

Mikkel sighed and surrendered to the inevitable. “I presume Lalli already has the item for which I came?”

“Oh, yeah. He had it before I jumped. Apparently, you make a very good distraction.” Sigrun cocked her head. “Tuuri claims she could have had it delivered to you without all the fuss.”

“Given enough time, a good grifter can work wonders,” Mikkel said, beginning the long climb back to the roof, “and Tuuri is a very good grifter, but this had to be done tonight.”

“Trond didn’t leave you much wiggle room, then?” Sigrun pulled herself alongside Mikkel without apparent effort.

“He already knows what I can do: this job is a compliance test, not an audition.” Mikkel paused to huff and puff a bit. “Trond needs to know I’ll toe the line he draws for me. I need to know he won’t cross the line _I’ve_ drawn. Once we understand each other, we’ll be okay.”

“Sounds like a plan that’d work for the Hotakainens, too. Or are you really ready to trust Trond more than them?”

Mikkel sighed, though his heavy breathing made it hard to tell. “You already made your point there, Sigrun. I’ll give them a chance.”

They finally reached the roof, where Lalli was patiently awaiting them...


	3. In Media Res

_My name is Mikkel Madsen. I used to be a spy, until I decided to resign..._

Most people, when confronted by a cypher-locked door in a research hospital bearing the legend “NO ENTRY”, would at least pause to reflect that there might be good reasons to stay out. Sigrun Eide was not one of those people. Her protégé, Emil Västerström, was, but he was standing watch outside while Sigrun, Mikkel and Lalli went in.

There was a soft click as the cypher-lock disengaged, Reynir’s computer skills triumphing over Sigrun’s hopes of just busting in like a whirlwind. This was the only conceivable way Reynir had of triumphing over Sigrun, but he still would have babbled out an apology if he’d known what he’d done.

Sigrun made to push the door open, but Lalli had already swept by her while she was raising her arm. Sigrun blinked and followed the swift Finn into the room, Mikkel bringing up the rear in his usual taciturn way.

*

It had all started with a phone call, of course. After Mikkel had delivered the item Trond had requested that he obtain to the place Trond had requested Mikkel to drop it off, a few uneventful but exceedingly tense days had gone by before Tuuri had received a call on the phone she thought no one knew the number to.

After destroying the phone, Tuuri let Mikkel know about their new job, or what little Trond had told her. Emil got another call from Trond a few minutes later, and Mikkel was able to get a little more out of the not- _too_ -forthcoming old Norwegian.

In any event, there was something rotten in Malmö’s Clinical Research Centre, which was run by Lund University. Two days ago, part of the Centre had gone dark, and _certain people_ were beginning to get a little concerned.

Biological weapons were comprehensively outlawed throughout the civilized world (which Trond seemed to view as the Norse nations and maybe Finland) with one crucial exception: in order to research cures and vaccines, active biological weapons were essential. Now, no one wanted to admit where or what research was being done, but one of the University Hospitals in the bustling city of Malmö, home to a large cross-section of Eurasian phenotypes, would be a plausible site for such defensive research.

Now, Trond didn’t state outright, “They were working with horrible diseases and somebody goofed, so they’re probably all dead”, but that was the general tone of his message. Mikkel and “his team” were to effect an entry into the affected portion of the Centre (which officially didn’t exist, which complicated things), assess the situation, and “take appropriate action”. Again, Trond didn’t say, “Kill anyone unfortunate enough to still be alive and torch the place so nothing can get out”, but that was the general tone lurking behind his phrase.

Why not the police? The military? _Anyone else_ besides Mikkel and the five companions Fate had allotted to him? Well, this was the kind of _delicate_ op that necessitated ~~plausible deniability~~ \--uh, _delicate_ handling “of the kind that you have such a good touch for”.

While Danish and Norwegian were mutually inter-comprehensible, it was amazing how much, er, _translating_ talking with Trond always required.

*

Breaking into the ward that didn’t exist had been surprisingly easy, but it was what was awaiting them there that would prove the real surprise...


	4. Rash Decisions

_My name is Mikkel Madsen. I used to be a spy, until I decided to resign..._

When you’re sent somewhere that doesn’t officially exist, you have to be prepared to find _anything_ there. Unfortunately, sometimes the _anything_ you find is not something you can prepare yourself for.

Mikkel Madsen was definitely not prepared for what he found when he and “his team” broke into a secret ward of the Clinical Research Centre that had “gone silent” a few days before.

“EIDE-HO!”

Sigrun Eide, however, was. A berserker like her had to be.

_FFFFFFFFOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM._

Ironically, so was Emil Västerström, her protégée.

They had come under attack almost from the moment they’d entered the Ward That Was Not; most of the attackers had been too fast for them to see, and the few that could be seen, Mikkel wished he hadn’t. The attacks had shredded the haz-mat suits they’d been wearing, but in proof that there is no such thing as “over-protection” in such circumstances as these, the full anti-chemical gear they’d had on beneath the haz-mat suits had held up pretty well.

Emil had come barreling in from his rear-guard post, allowing the doors to re-secure behind him. Mikkel was of two minds on that, as their escape route was now gone, but these _things_ likewise were still confined to the ward. If they had gone around instead of attacking, this might have gone much worse.

Sigrun was similarly of two minds concerning Emil’s intervention: without it, the three of them (Mikkel, Sigrun and Lalli Hotakainen) would almost certainly be dead; but rear-guards weren’t supposed to leave their posts!

Mikkel couldn’t see Lalli; the thin Finn had vanished almost as soon as the fight started, but every so often, one of their assailants would drop, obviously sniped by Lalli. Hopefully, the remaining assailants couldn’t find Lalli either.

_“Mikkel!”_ Tuuri Hotakainen’s voice buzzed in Mikkel’s earpiece. _“What are you guys_ doing _in there? Reynir says he’s had to block a dozen alarms from tripping, and he’s not sure he caught all there were! You need to bug out of there, now!”_

Mikkel sighed. “No can do, Tuuri. Our bug out route’s gone, so we’ll need you and Reynir to find another one for us.”

A clearly audible gulp came down the line; Mikkel didn’t need to ask who’d made it. Reynir was as nice as the day is long, but self-confidence was decidedly not his strong suit. Mikkel sighed. “I know it’ll be a problem, but we need it done.”

_“Don’t worry about a thing, Mikkel.”_ Tuuri suffered from no such lack of self-confidence; no grifter ever did. _“It’ll take a few minutes, but we’ll have another way out for you guys.”_

Mikkel almost missed the last bit, as he was fending off another one of those _things_ with the crowbar he’d grabbed. Whatever they were, they were quick and tricky; when he actually managed to make contact, however, they made a very satisfying _splat!_

“Way to go, big guy!” Sigrun crowed. “That’s the last of ’em!”

“Good,” Mikkel managed between huffs and puffs. “Emil, can we burn out this ward without taking the rest of the place down?”

Emil had to stop to consider the idea. “Only if we can limit the inflammables to alcohols, which won’t be easy,” he warned. “Everything else burns too hot. We might do quite a bit of collateral damage to the air system no matter what we try, though; that’s always the big trouble in controlling room fires.”

_“Tell me that isn’t why all our bedrooms still smell of smoke, Emil,”_ Tuuri growled through the mike. Even Sigrun took pause, be it ever so briefly, at the anger in her normally cheery tones.

“I flushed the whole vent system out with enough cleaners to nuke _anything_ ,” Emil protested.

“Tuuri, stop worrying about that and get back on getting us a way out,” Mikkel ordered. “If it helps, remember you can’t get Emil back for it if he’s dead.”

Tuuri’s frustrated mumbles suddenly cut out in an agonizing squeal of black noise, like a thousand jumbled voices screaming in pain and terror, that nearly brought the three in the room to their knees. Of course, this was when a few more of the _things_ decided to jump them...


	5. Väst(erström) Troubles

_My name is Mikkel Madsen. I used to be a spy, until I decided to resign..._

Most spies going on a raid expect to have at least one back-up for their escape route. The problem comes when you can’t trust that the floor plans you have will match up with what’s actually there. Cut through the wrong section of wall, and you can electrocute yourself or worse.

Cut through the _right_ section of wall, and there’s still the chance that there’ll be someone or something waiting for you on the other side.

“EIDE-HO!”

_FOOM FOOM FOOM_

...Of course, sometimes you’re _glad_ that someone or something’s waiting for you on the other side, because you’re hoping they’ll take care of the mess you’ve stumbled into. While Sigrun Eide would have claimed herself equal to handling the situation on her own if asked, as would her protégé Emil Västerström, Mikkel would much prefer that such a mess as this be cleaned up by those responsible for making it in the first place.

The fact that Emil was using short bursts on his flamethrower told Mikkel that the fire-happy Swede was running low on fuel, which was bad. Mikkel wasn’t in a position to do much damage to their attackers himself, as he was armed only with a crowbar, but Sigrun had firmly vetoed the idea of letting him have some other and more potent weapon, her opinion of his “battling skills” not being very high. As Sigrun was far and away the best combatant on the team, Mikkel had deferred to her judgment in this.

A monster was creeping up behind Sigrun until its head exploded with a sharp _PING;_ fortunately for them, their stealth man Lalli Hotakainen did not appear to be low on rounds for his sniper rifle. On the other hand, what on earth made that kind of noise when it blew up?

Something even more utterly _wrong_ had happened in this hospital-ward-that-didn’t-exist than Mikkel and his team had been led to believe; perhaps it was something even more utterly _wrong_ than anyone believed _could_ have happened in the first place. Regardless of that, it was now up to Mikkel to get his team out; or the part of it that was in, at any rate.

There had been intermittent, short bursts of weird and sometimes painful radio interference over the team comms ever since they’d entered the Ward That Was Not, usually (though not always) directly preceding another assault by whatever these _things_ were; this made keeping contact open with Lalli’s grifter cousin Tuuri Hotakainen and the team intern Reynir, both safely outside this embryonic charnel house, much more difficult than otherwise. Now, however, the most recent burst of black noise was (or seemed to be) dying away, which was a relief to the team’s ears.

Essentially, though, the real problem Mikkel and his team faced was less how to get out of what was looking more and more like a death trap than how to get out while keeping all these things in—or, better yet, making this a death trap for _them_ rather than Mikkel’s team. Mikkel spared a moment’s concentration to briefly curse the team’s mysterious “handler” Trond and the _certain people_ who had engaged him as their agent for this endeavor.

Lalli sniped the last of the most recent wave of attackers, leaving the others panting with exertion amidst the corpses of their enemies. Sigrun grinned after a moment and said, “This is so _metal_.”

Emil managed a distracted grin, while Mikkel actually laughed outright—a rarity for him. Sigrun grinned toothily back.

The moment was interrupted by Tuuri coming through on the comm. _“Mikkel! [buzz] What the [buzz] that just now?”_

Before Mikkel could answer, though, Emil piped up. “Tuuri, I’ve got it.”

Tuuri’s voice was rather cold when she answered, _“Got what, Emil?”_ Evidently, she was still sore over the smoke-in-the-vents issue to which Emil had inadvertently admitted culpability just before the most recent attack.

“How to burn this place out,” Emil replied, seemingly unconcerned with her latent hostility. “All we have to do is use the burn-out system whoever designed this ward put in when they made it, but we probably can’t do it from here.”

_“How do you know there is one?”_ Tuuri challenged.

“Well, if there isn’t the people running the place are idiots,” Emil replied. “They picked _us_ to check this incident out before taking the place down, so they definitely aren’t idiots and therefore have a self-destruct built into the place, so Reynir needs to find it and set it off after we get out.”

“Have you considered the possibility that the self-destruct might take out more than just this ward?” Mikkel said calmly.

Emil nodded grimly. “So might anything we can rig up here,” he pointed out.

Mikkel nodded. “Do it, Reynir,” he ordered. “We’ll make an escape hatch and bail when you’re ready.”

If they survived long enough…


End file.
